


In Sickness And In Bad Fashion Sense

by rockbrigade



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Gen, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5220437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockbrigade/pseuds/rockbrigade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Marriage is knowing each other's buttons, and pushing them repeatedly when bored." So at this point marriage for Atobe and Mizuki is just a formality, like signing a contract, surely? </p>
<p>(Long long overdue fic written for <a href="http://atomizu.tumblr.com">atomizu</a> as part of an exchange! The original characters tag is there because there's a few scenes where nameless characters have speaking parts.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness And In Bad Fashion Sense

The meeting wasn't over. Atobe fanned himself with his copy of the business plan, while the entrepreneur talked earnestly, reaching out over the desk, imploring Atobe to look at diagram 4a. And the door cracked open. Mizuki closed himself into Atobe's office with a prim and precise movement, and when he turned to the desk, he took a second to shake the hairs out of his eyes before taking the seat beside the entrepreneur. Mizuki placed a folder lightly onto the desk with an exaggerated motion, and then slid his knees neatly together, and gracefully folded his hands on top of them. Then he sat with his nose in the air, clearing his throat at short intervals, and shaking his head until the curl of his hair stopped clinging to his cheek. Atobe narrowed his eyes. He fixed them on Mizuki as he reached forward to take up the folder, but Mizuki didn't move. 

"Sir?" the entrepreneur said, but Atobe waved a distracted hand at him. 

"We'll continue this tomorrow. You're excused." Atobe sat back in his chair, still staring at Mizuki, and beginning to pry open the pages of the folder with his thumbs. Mizuki glanced from under his eyelashes and chuckled to himself. "And what's this, Mizuki? I thought you never wanted to set foot in my office. What did you call it? Ghastly?" 

"It is ghastly," Mizuki said, sitting forward and crossing his arms. "My goodness, haven't you heard of air conditioning? And the smell, it smells like-- a behind." His face soured as he said it. Then he clapped his hands sharply, and a member of housekeeping skittered into the office and curtseyed at Mizuki. "The window, if you please," Mizuki said, and the girl nodded and obliged, opening the windows directly behind Atobe's desk. She waited, and was dismissed with a small smirk and a wave of Mizuki's hand. "So? How do you find my proposal, Atobe-kun?" Mizuki said, as the door closed behind them. 

"Proposal?" Atobe looked down at the folder pages he was holding open. "Well, isn't this cute. You're proposing to me by showing me wedding photographs!" 

"Proposing to you! Why, how… how preposterous!" Mizuki slammed his palms against Atobe's desk and pushed himself to his feet. "It's a business plan! I want," a layer of cool seemed to settle over him suddenly, and he pulled the hem of his shirt downward, flattening the creases, "I want you to invest in me!" he said, puffing out his chest. 

Atobe stared at Mizuki. Then he stared at the folder. "A business plan."

"That's right! For my latest venture," Mizuki watched Atobe's face, but his eyes were scanning the folder. "I. Am going. To be," he paused for emphasis, "A wedding planner!" He waited for the sensation, but it didn't come. "Atobe-kun!" 

Atobe flinched, and met Mizuki's look. He cleared his throat, holding up the folder and shaking it slightly. "Come now, you can hardly call this a business plan! For a start, it's full of holes," Atobe was resting a finger against the bridge of his nose, and Mizuki made a noise of disgust at him. "And I'm sure these photographs aren't yours." 

Mizuki put his hand over his heart. "Atobe-kun, you wound me! How can you not recognise my own artistic vision!" 

"Look closely at this photograph, Mizuki." He held the folder open on his desk, tapping the corner of the picture with his finger, "In this spectacular beach wedding photograph--" 

"Exquisitely arranged, as you'll find!" 

"--Exquisitely. Yes. Apart from this man right here, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt." Mizuki gave a muffled noise of disgust, and a shudder that shook the tips of his hair, but he took a deep breath and steeled himself. 

"Hawaiian shirts may have been cut from the fabric of hell itself, but they are, Atobe-kun, excusable in a beach setting. Only excusable in a beach setting, but that's beside the point." 

Atobe leaned back in his chair and smiled faintly, "So this outfit was your creation?" 

"Precisely!" 

"I love it, especially the combination of socks with sandals!" Mizuki growled and gripped so hard at the desk that his nails left tracks in the varnish. 

"Why would you insult me in this way, Atobe-kun?!" Mizuki gripped his shirt over his heart. 

"I'm not interested in insulting you," Atobe said, without adding, not in this instance, "but if I'm going to invest in you, I need to know what you're capable of." Mizuki was still bowed over the desk, fist clenched over his shirt buttons, and his shoulders rose and fell with his deep breaths. Atobe tilted his head to catch a glimpse of Mizuki's face. 

"To think you don't consider me capable," Mizuki muttered. He straightened his back, and examined his fingernails for flecks of dried varnish. "Perhaps it is the case that I am incapable. Incapable in many areas besides - the bedroom, for example," his eyes flashed as he said it, the bedroom. "Tell me, Atobe-kun, am I not a capable man?" 

"This is business, Mizuki," Atobe said, but he tugged at his shirt collar with his finger. "In the world of business, you have to prove that you are capable," Mizuki's eyes were daggers, so Atobe added,"--not that you're incapable! -- But how would I know for sure if you won't prove it." He ended in an even tone, and Mizuki stood, still and quiet, sweeping his fingers along the ridges of the desk, listening. Then Mizuki raised his face and tilted his head back, smiling. 

"I see. Then it seems," he chuckled as he spoke, "that in that other area I mentioned previously, we may never discover how you find my capability." Atobe frowned, and Mizuki went on, "Never, Atobe-kun. Unfortunately, I do not refer to… business," he rolled his eyes as he said the word, then stared at Atobe to make sure he was understood. "And similarly unfortunate for you, I suppose, is that I understand what you are trying to say. And, on the subject of business, I accept your challenge. I will prove myself, if that will amuse you so." Mizuki turned to leave, waving a delicate hand in the air, "Heavens, perhaps it will keep you warm tonight as well, you are a funny man, Atobe-kun!" 

It didn't keep Atobe warm at night. In fact, any time he pictured boardroom meetings with Mizuki, the latter examining his nails and dismissing the poor accountant's quite reasonable (Atobe imagined) concerns, Atobe rubbed his arms through his silk pyjamas and shuddered violently. And when, at breakfast, in between the morning paper and the coffee, a member of housekeeping entered simply to deliver the message that Mizuki would not be joining him for breakfast as he was, 'unfortunately, otherwise engaged,' Atobe felt the chill settle on his stomach. But, when Michael attended to him with the morning's post and indigestion tablets, other matters began to supersede what he affectionately called, 'his little Mizuki problem'. 

And the entrepreneur wrung his hands, giving a sheepish nod to the secretary that ushered him into the office. Atobe raised his face - and his eyebrows - as the entrepreneur found his way, on shaking legs, to a chair in front of the desk. "S-sir, as our meeting was cut short yesterday, I'd like to get straight to the point," but he trailed off into an awkward silence. Atobe narrowed his eyes, leaning back in his chair, offering nothing. "…I-if that's okay…" the entrepreneur added, avoiding the icy stare. 

"Just spit it out. I'm a busy man!" Atobe said, and the entrepreneur spat out his words so fast, they tumbled after one another in dizzying succession. Atobe squinted, sat forward in his chair and bowed his head toward the desk, trying to focus. He clicked his fingers high in the air, and the entrepreneur yelped and stared up at him, "keep talking!" he said, but the seconds passed with no further event. Atobe clicked his fingers again, and the entrepreneur flinched, but he continued his report. Nothing. Atobe groaned, wheeling his chair backwards by bracing his hands against the desk. A buzzer sounded in the distance somewhere. Nothing. The buzzer fired in quick bursts, and the entrepreneur sat, mouth agape, sweat dripping from his forehead.

"Uh, sir?" 

"Quiet!" Atobe's teeth snapped together as he spoke. Then he blinked and cleared his throat, "Er, hold that thought for a moment, um," he clicked his finger in front of his face for assistance, and the entrepreneur gave his name in a stutter. "Right. Bear with me, just a moment." Atobe slid his chair back, and used the momentum to spring to his feet. He strode across the office, threw back the door, and poked his head around the doorframe. No one. Atobe roared, and behind him he heard the entrepreneur whimpering. "Excuse me, for just a moment," Atobe's voice was raised and sharp, though his words were businesslike, and once he'd seen the entrepreneur's frantic nod, Atobe strode out of the boardroom and down the corridor, checking every room and pushing open every door as he passed. 

He was almost at the grand staircase when he heard skittering footsteps in the corridor ahead. Atobe grit his teeth and took off at a run, turning a sharp corner and almost barrelling into a small maid. No, 'member of housekeeping staff', he heard Mizuki's curt correction and disdainful laugh every time he referred to them as 'maids'. The mocking bounce of the way Mizuki said, goodness, you ARE a Neanderthal! but they were 'maids' again quick enough, when they made a mistake at Mizuki's expense. The young woman clenched a hand over her apron as she recovered, but Atobe had no time for pleasantries. "YOU. Where on earth are you running to?" she opened her mouth, but Atobe bellowed, "where are the staff? I EXPECT my calls to be answered in my own household! I should not have to chase someone down to have a glass of water brought to my office!" She winced at him, but said nothing. "Well? Where is my water?" 

"Oh! At once, sir!" She began to dash away down the corridor, when she pulled up short and ran back towards Atobe, "oh, sir, shall I… I'll tell the staff that this floor is understaffed! I'm sorry, sir!" She bowed to him, and then hurried away, her neat black shoes clacking on the polished floor. 

Atobe's ass had barely hit the leather of his desk chair when the ma-- housekeeping staff bustled into the office with a tray, and set about placing little paper coasters on the desk, and filling glasses with ice and lemon. When she finished, she bowed to Atobe and he waved to dismiss her. Then he raised an eyebrow at the entrepreneur. "Terribly sorry. A little issue with the help, you know how it is." The entrepreneur nodded slowly, an uncertain look on his face. "Carry on with the report, won't you?" Atobe said, rubbing his temple with his fingers. 

But the report was better than expected, and Atobe found his tension draining away as his hunger built. The entrepreneur was more than agreeable to continue business talks over lunch, and so Atobe raised his hand in the air and clicked. A minute of the agreeable silence passed, and Atobe's tension headache made the corner of his eye twitch. He raised his hand with heavy emphasis, letting it drop through the air as he timed the click, and just before the snap, the housekeeping staff member hurried inside, and honoured Atobe with a graceless curtsey. "Took you long enough!" Atobe said, similarly graceless, "I want chef to know I will be taking lunch with my guest, out on the pavilion. Go!" The woman fidgeted with the hem of her apron. "Is there a problem?" 

She started, her eyes darting to the door and back again, "No! No, sir, no problem… well, it's just… the pavilion is…" she gulped, "unfortunately, otherwise engaged." 

Atobe narrowed his eyes at the wording. 

"B-but if sir would like, I could call to arrange a table at sir's favourite restaurant, i-if that would be--" 

He snapped his fingers. "Do it." She blinked at him. "Go! Would you have us starved?" he clapped his hands, "Go!"

Mizuki was absent during dinner that evening. Which, Atobe thought, could only be a good thing. The food came to the table late, and the three staff who turned up to assist with the service kept tripping over themselves with mistakes. Even Michael, who clearly noticed his master's displeasure, had to step in to assist, pour drinks, clean up spilled food, tasks that were clearly beneath him. It was only when he was standing in front of the large, gold-tinted mirror in the master bathroom attached to his personal suite, that Atobe considered Mizuki's reactions to such a shambolic dinner. Atobe paused with his toothbrush pressed against his gums: ought he have warned them? Fired them? But then, dismissing the only staff that showed up to serve him was hardly the point. He scrubbed his teeth and thought about it, trying not to let it wrinkle his forehead. 

Atobe had let his head hit the pillow, and barely clapped off the lights, when the door opened with a soft creak and a petulant clap brightened the room. He rolled over in bed, turning toward the door. Mizuki sauntered across the room, tightly wrapped in a silk dressing gown, and Atobe smirked at him. Mizuki threw back the bed sheets and clambered inside, shaking each of his delicate slippers off his feet before laying back on the pillow. "What's all this?" Atobe said, "Thought you were against keeping me warm at night?" 

Mizuki gave an abstracted hum as he opened the draw of the nightstand and fished out an eye mask. "Can't one change one's mind on occasion?" he said. He took out his vials of moisturiser and hand creams and applied each rose-scented concoction in turn, as he continued, surprisingly spirited, "perhaps it's because I have been thinking about love all day." He chuckled to himself and Atobe frowned at him.

"Love?" Atobe said, without making any effort to hide his disgust. 

"Yes, Atobe-kun, it's something that emotionally-intelligent adults have the pleasure of experiencing," he was rubbing lotion into his hands, when he paused, holding them out in front of him with his fingers extended, examining them, "I know, it is a terribly difficult concept for one such as you to grasp. But I am, nevertheless, a slave to it." Mizuki slid his bottles and tubes back into the nightstand drawer, patting the frontage with satisfaction, before turning to Atobe. "Goodness, what should happen to that billion-dollar face if the wind were to change, Atobe-kun? I, for one, shall not stand to look upon it!" And he slipped the eye mask over his hair, and adjusted it so it rested over his eyes. Then he lifted his hands and gave a short and sharp clap, and the room was dark again. 

Atobe listened to Mizuki shifting in the bed, making himself comfortable on the authentic, hypoallergenic goose-down pillows, and once he could see the line of Mizuki's shoulder in fuzzy grey, Atobe said, "Hey, Mizuki, a maid spilled food all over the carpet at dinner." That shoulder twitched. "She also spilled the wine." he paused, "red wine, of course." Mizuki flopped onto his back in a violent motion, and Atobe could just about make out the furrows on his brow just above the eye mask. "It ruined one of the table cloths, ruined totally. The poor kitten was in tears!" 

Mizuki gave a disgusted grunt, "you brute! You could not let me sleep comfortably, you could not allow me to be content, for me to dream of love, you absolutely had to trouble me with this… this… talk of filth and failure!" Atobe chuckled as he heard the grinding of Mizuki's teeth. He was silent for some long moments, and Atobe began to feel the night recede away from him. "Atobe-kun!" There was an indignant shove to his shoulder, and Atobe swore and tore his eyes open. "I SAID, Atobe-kun, did you dismiss the girl?" 

"What?" Atobe's voice was slow and sticky, "don't be silly, Mizuki, she made a few mistakes, that's all." 

Mizuki was quiet, but his muttering cut into Atobe's dreaming, "That young lady is not the only one who has made mistakes, I can tell you!" And he grumbled to himself long into the night. 

The trill of the internal phone on his bedside table broke through the fog of sleep. Atobe turned over on the pillow and with a grunt, lifted the handset to his ear. "Yes?" he said, but the message was the same as every day: it is 7am, breakfast will be served in the dining room, Michael will visit you presently to assist you in preparing for the day. He put the phone back in its cradle and sat up. Mizuki wasn't there, and judging by the particular folding of the sheets and plumpness of the pillows on the other side of the bed, he had been gone a long time. But Atobe shrugged, stretched his neck, and standing out of bed, stretched his arms and torso. And the quick rap at the door announced Michael. "Come in!" he said, without turning to it. 

Once he'd finished his toilet and dressed, and Michael was holding out today's suit jacket for Atobe to slip his arms into, Atobe saw for the first time the unusual expression on Michael's face, reflected politely behind him in the mirror. "What is it? You know I don't care to discuss business before my coffee," Atobe said, and Michael stammered out an apology. 

"Of course not, master… I was intending to inform you at breakfast, along with today's post, but the lawyer, and great friend of the Atobe family for many years, Mr--" 

"Yes, yes, I do business with him on a weekly basis, Michael, he needs no introduction." Michael gave a sheepish nod. "So? Is there some urgent business that requires his presence here?" 

"Well, yes and no, master. He urges you to make time to see him at your earliest convenience, but he insisted it was not a matter of business, per se…" and Atobe remembered Mizuki's scornful tone, Business! he said, rolling his eyes like he might at a televised charity appeal. 

"I understand. Have him wait for me in my office, and I'll see him after breakfast," Atobe said, pulling up the lapels of his jacket, and turning slightly in the mirror. When he pushed open the door to his office, the lawyer started to his feet and bowed at him, muttering greetings and compliments. "Yes, good morning to you, too. No need to be so formal, you must have known me as a nipper back in England, have you not?" Atobe kicked back in his chair, smirking and clicking his tongue. "So what brings you? Michael went on and on about how it's serious business, but technically not business." He laughed at himself and then added, "a little joke there," and the lawyer understood him immediately and forced out a laugh. Atobe clicked his finger in the air, and got yesterday's underwhelming response. "I was about to offer you a drink, but my staff appears to have forgotten themselves as of late." 

"Don't worry, sir, I'm quite alright," the lawyer said, and Atobe raised an eyebrow at him and gave a thoughtful noise. "I-I'll just, get straight to it. I have been a friend of the Atobe family for years, our families have been in good stead with each other for many years, and as you said, I have known you personally since you were a baby. So I'd like you to appreciate that what I am about to tell you is not a judgement of any kind on how you or your household manages its intimate affairs…" he paused, looking in front of him, perhaps wishing for that glass of water after all. 

"I thought you were getting straight to it," Atobe said, with a sigh. 

"Of course, sir, and I shall," the lawyer gulped. And then he reached down out of the line of Atobe's sight and brought a briefcase onto his knee. He fiddled with the clasps, took a sheaf of crisp white papers out, and pushed them onto the desk, towards Atobe. "I hope you don't find that I'm speaking out of turn in coming to you like this," the lawyer said, trailing off as Atobe's eyes flicked over the papers in front of him.

"What is this?" he said, though he knew perfectly well what the document was for. A Prenuptial contract, half-filled with his name and Mizuki's name both, listed as the interested parties. "What the hell is this?" Atobe's scowl made his eyebrows point like thunderbolts, and the lawyer swallowed hard. 

"I-I don't mean to insult you, sir, and who you choose to marry is absolutely no concern of mine, no, not on an individual level, but as your family lawyer, I urge you--" 

"Who I choose to marry? Who the hell am I meant to be marrying, huh?! What is this, who brought you here?!" The lawyer's eyes were wide, and his mouth dropped open, lip trembling, sweat pouring off his brow. "Don't tell me! Did Mizuki send for you?!" Atobe lunged across the desk, sending the contracts flying about the room, and punched his hand out for the lawyer's lapel, but his chair was set just too far back for Atobe to reach. "Answer me!" he said, clenching his fingers in useless rage. 

"N-no, sir! Nobody sent for me! W-well, the word reached me last night, you see, t-there is a girl, a member of your staff, my niece, you see, and, well, she called me--" 

"The word reached you?! The word that I'm marrying Mizuki reached YOU?!" Atobe's throat burned with his anger, and his chest heaved, and he remembered that no water had been brought up to him in his time of need, and so he sat back in his chair and tried to compose himself. A few moments of thick silence passed in which the lawyer stared down at his own knotted fingers and waited for a cue from Atobe. "It's just a pity the word never reached me, eh," Atobe said, with bitter sarcasm. The lawyer moved his head, looking up at Atobe cautiously. "Go on, continue. Tell me what this niece of yours told you that she could not tell me." He crossed his arms on his chest and waited. 

"I-I'm so sorry, sir, for misunderstanding… My niece, it wasn't her fault, I probably just… blew everything out of proportion! She told me she'd had a terrible night because she made a mistake in the dinner service, and she was only so clumsy because she was exhausted helping with preparations for the wedding…" Atobe sat forward with interest. "A-and when I heard that, you see, I assumed…" The lawyer looked away and drummed his fingertips together. 

Atobe narrowed his eyes, his gaze sliding to the side as he thought. "You mean to tell me that my staff are planning a wedding? Here, on my estate?" The lawyer nodded. "Do you suppose that's why," he clicked his fingers in the air again for demonstration, "I can't find a single staff member to attend to me?" The lawyer shrugged and nodded again. Atobe got to his feet, pulling down his jacket at the bottom hem, as he walked around the desk and offered a hand to the lawyer. "Thank you very much for coming today," he said, and they shook, "I have no need for a prenup contract -- yet-- but your visit was very useful to me nonetheless." 

The summer midday sun was above Atobe as he stepped out onto the grounds. He put a hand against his forehead, shielding his eyes, as he scanned the place for staff. After a few moments, a man in housekeeping uniform emerged from one of the nearby greenhouses, an apron strapped over his front, and carrying a crate full of freshly clipped Atobe Roses. Atobe frowned and marched over to him quickly, clicking his fingers, "You! You! Where are you heading to?" and the poor man's face became drained of all colour in an instant, "never mind about the roses, man! Could you drive me there?" 

The golf cart trundled at its highest speed, over the bridge at the centre of the lake, heading for the Pavillion which floated at the centre. Atobe held the crate of roses firm against his knee and grimaced at the bustle of staff, decorators and caterers, deliverymen with their clipboards, standing in a line waiting for their paperwork to be signed off. And at the centre of it all, he stood in a formal jacket - designer, obviously - cut from a fabric that shimmered somewhat under the newly-erected candelabras. "What's wrong with the old candelabras?" Atobe muttered, and his chauffer begged his pardon, "Oh nothing, it's nothing," Atobe said. The cart stopped, and Atobe hopped out, still clutching the crate of roses, bracing them against his chest as he went, storming past the queue of deliverymen. 

"Hey buddy, there's a line?" one of them shouted, and Atobe snapped his fingers as he passed, unleashing a force of black-clad security guards who pinned the deliveryman to the floor. 

"Mizuki," Atobe felt his face grow hot - probably because the Pavillion was so crowded, he reasoned, and when Mizuki turned with his finger curled in a lock of his hair, elbow tucked into his chest, Atobe considered the possibility that he felt flushed with loathing. "Mizuki, what is the meaning of this?" He tucked the crate of roses under one arm so he could gesture at the chaos around him. "Who gave you permission to plan our wedding? Who said anything about marriage? What's wrong with the old candelabras?!" 

Mizuki's mouth dropped neatly open, and then he spluttered, well, as much as Mizuki would permit himself to splutter, with his infamous fluffy laughter. He gave Atobe a light slap against his chest, "come now, Atobe-kun! Goodness, you do know how to make one chuckle!" He calmed his breathing with a quick sigh, and smiled up at Atobe, "The OLD candelabras had one problem: they were old. And as you know nothing of interior design," he rolled his wrist and indicated the candelabras above him, "ta-dah! I think the flame effect is particularly lovely, don't you?" he paused for an answer, and then caught a glimpse of Atobe's face. "Oh, of course you don't. I forgot, you're an animal." 

Atobe stood, body tense, in stunned silence, "...You're wrong about the candelabras, but that's not the problem here, Mizuki! What could have possessed you to think I would agree to marry you?! And to set up all this?! And… those bows, on the chairs? What possessed you?" 

"I assure you, NOTHING could possess me to even consider marriage to an imbecile so utterly ignorant to the current trends!" Mizuki's voice achieved a pitch so shrill, Atobe could faintly hear the dogs in the kennels begin to bark. The pavillion was silenced, with shocked deliverymen and florists, and the household staff who coughed and turned their faces discreetly away. Mizuki's chest heaved, and he huffed and fanned at his face with pointed fingers.

Atobe pointed a tentative finger at him, "Your neck, you've got a little…" and Mizuki slapped his hand away.

"Don't you--!!" He slid is hand over his neck, beneath his shirt collar and pressed it firm, like the survivor of a vampire attack. A member of housekeeping drew up one of the dining chairs, ghost chairs, covered in a white, silk sheet and strangled with a hideous purple ribbon; Mizuki dropped into it, and accepted a glass of water from yet another staff member. Atobe raised his eyebrow at them. One of them made the terrible mistake of looking Atobe in the eye, and Atobe beckoned her with a wave of his hand. She hunched her shoulders forward and pointed a trembling finger at her face. Atobe nodded. She gingerly took a few fairy steps towards him, and stood there, quaking, waiting for orders. Atobe pushed the crate of roses into her chest, and nodded at her when she put her hands around the sides. Mizuki was still drinking in air by the lungful and hooting out the excess. "Curse you, y-you want me to break out in hives, you… pig!" he said, between scornful hiccups. Atobe felt his shoulders drop. 

"What are you getting yourself so upset for, hmm?" He crossed his arms and tapped his foot, and was shocked when Mizuki hissed at him, draping one of those delicate hands over his eyes and asking Atobe to leave. "Really, what is this about! If you didn't want to marry me, what's all the commotion for? Anyone would get the wrong impression -- I had prenup forms in my office this morning, you know!" 

Mizuki's eyes flicked open. His hand slid away from his face, and he sat up, slowly, slowly, face wrinkled with disgust. "Prenups??"

"This little charade of yours," Atobe twirled a finger in the air, "got people talking. And worried. Me and my lawyer, both." But Mizuki sat forward and with lightning quickness, wrapped his wiry little fingers around Atobe's wrist and squeezed. 

"Prenups??" Atobe had never heard a banshee scream before, but Mizuki's voice in that moment would be his go-to reference for what it might sound like from that day onwards. "I would not marry you--" his words were squeezed out of the gaps in his bared teeth, "I could not even muster the energy to begin to fabricate the THOUGHT of marrying you, let alone entertain it! But should I have WANTED to marry you, the very notion that you would…" here he stopped to swallow hard, like he was trying to keep nausea at bay, "…expect ME to sign your filthy PRENUP??" 

Atobe clenched his fist and tried to pull it free from Mizuki's grasp, "So what? You think a person such as yours truly would enter marriage -- or any kind of arrangement -- without a contract?" he wrenched his hand free with a last effort and Mizuki hissed at him again. "Anyway, you signed the cohabitation agreement, did you not? How is it any different!" 

"I think you'll find," Mizuki tilted his head back in his seat and let his eyes roll back under his eyelids, glaring out of two thin, intimidating slits, "that I burned that hateful document. I set it on fire!" He put his hands together and fanned his fingers out from the centre, imitating a flame in a graceful motion. Atobe frowned and gulped, and Mizuki giggled, "Oh yes, I did, Atobe-kun. When you found out you said you loved my impulsiveness and put your arms about me in that funny little macho way of yours and…" he put his fingertips to his lips and smirked, "oh, you know the rest." 

"Hey, don't kid around, Mizuki… you signed it, right?" And Mizuki laughed. He moved his head and caught the eye of the nearby housekeeping staff, and then they laughed together, all the staff and workers in the pavillion laughing that gentle but definitely malevolent little laugh. Atobe made a huge cross with his arms, "Stop it! Be silent!!" but they wouldn't, "Under whose establishment are you employed??" he yelled, and the laughter faded. 

Mizuki was checking his fingernails for dirt with the greatest of interest. "See, now, Atobe-kun? I practically own half of your establishment anyway," he flashed Atobe a look, "MORE than half, if we were to be brutally honest." A staff member came by and handed Mizuki a nail file, curtseyed, and retreated, "--Thank you. So, why on Earth," he rested the tip of the nail file against his chin and frowned with feigned confusion, "would I need to sign a silly little prenup contract? It's completely idiotic!" He laughed to himself, and with a jaunty motion, primed the file against his nails and proceeded to buff them.

Atobe's patience seemed to have evaporated with the midday heat. His voice was hoarse, "Mizuki… what kind of a pathetic joke--! Own half of MY establishment?!" 

"I assure you, I am not joking. I'd even venture to say I attend to the business more than you do!" He didn't need to look up from neatening his hands.

"And that's the only venture you'll be making!" Atobe put his hands on his hips and bent forward to yell close to Mizuki's face, "Attend to the business? And with what results? You know, I know: disastrous ones! Ones that nearly cost me clients," Atobe ticked them off on his fingers, "nearly cost me businesses, nearly cost me contracts, nearly cost me MONEY!" Mizuki put a hand over his ear and rolled his eyes. "YOU attend to the business? Like you did at that charity ball?" 

Mizuki turned to look Atobe in the eye, and their faces were centimetres apart. "Yes, like at that charity ball! I don't remember any disasters that night, but I DO remember a whole lot of money raised for starving orphans!" Mizuki's teeth gnashed as he spoke. There they were, on the red carpet, Mizuki perfectly poised with a champagne glass in his hand, and the journalists just dying to get a comment from him. How rewarding is it, for a close friend of the Atobe family, to be here tonight in support of this wonderful cause? "Oh, it's SO rewarding," he said, grease not just in his hair that night, "on a personal level, it's wonderful to be making a difference to the orphans!" The room stirred, and the journalist said, but this is a flood relief fund? Seconds passed, and Mizuki's pale face turned a shade of fire truck, he was shaking, angry as he said, "And do you mean to tell me this ghastly flood left no orphans!? Don't you care! Don't you CARE about those poor, hopeless orphans!?" 

"It WAS a disaster," Atobe said, forehead aching from holding his frown for so long, "It was, at the very least, a PR disaster!" But Mizuki scoffed at him. 

"I snatched victory from the jaws of defeat!" 

"You opened the jaws of defeat and stuffed victory down its throat!" And Atobe hated how his skin prickled with the desire just to lean in right here and shove his tongue down Mizuki's throat -- mostly, he figured, because Mizuki would hate it, and not at all because he 'loved Mizuki's impulsiveness' or whatever -- but Mizuki smirked and narrowed his eyes, and patted Atobe's lips with a dismissive hand. As if he knew, as if he fucking knew. Atobe tisked and straightened his back. 

"Now, now. You can't be a successful business person without taking any risks. What is it they say?" He held the tip of his nail file in the air and waved it in time to every word he spoke, "What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger!" He finished with a smile, "and that's certainly a lesson I've learned from living with you!" 

Atobe's voice was a low grumble, "Believe me, if it wasn't against the law…" 

"And what's that other lesson you were so desperate to teach me? Hummm… Oh, yes." Mizuki made his voice squeaky and childish, "In the world of business, you have to prove that you are capable! Which, by the way, I'm sure you're thrilled to see that my credentials are in order." 

Atobe shook is head, "Credentials? What…?" 

Mizuki rolled his eyes. Then he stood up and held his arms out before him. "THIS! It's for my tediou-- oh, no, excuse me, incredibly important, business plan." Atobe opened his mouth to speak, but he had nothing. He looked out at the display of tables; the elaborate wedding arch on the decking, overlooking the lake; the half-finished carpet made of rose petals; the new, flame-effect candelabras. "And certainly not something as ludicrous as an indirect wedding proposal to -- Yours Truly," he said imitating Atobe in voice and pose, with his hand primed above him in the air as if he were about to snap his fingers. Atobe gaped at Mizuki, and somewhere just outside there was the sound of a car engine pulling up. "Oh dear, he's speechless!" Mizuki said, clapping his hands together in delight. 

"What…" Atobe said, shaking his head slowly. There was a small commotion by the edge of the pavillion, but Atobe barely registered it. "What in the name of all that is holy were you thinking?! Setting up all of this!?" Mizuki gasped at him.

"Don't you call upon the holy powers, you blasphemer!" He said, in a scandalised hush. 

"You hired a caterer, there's a cake, you've decimated my roses--" 

"More than decimated, you might find," Mizuki put in. 

"Are you trying to make this worse on yourself!?" Atobe peered right into Mizuki's face, and Mizuki twirled a finger in his hair and looked away. "You got rid of my candelabras, you ordered these ridiculous," Atobe lifted the tail of the purple bow, wrapped around the chair Mizuki had been sitting in, "chair ball gowns? You overrode the orders to my entire staff! I'm better than speechless, Mizuki, I'm--" 

"Oh, are you Mizuki Hajime-san?" said a cheery, female voice. Atobe turned, and a lady with a large black case in each hand, and a camera strapped about her neck, was smiling up at them. 

"Absolutely, that's me!" Mizuki said brightly, offering his hand for her to shake, which she did after she'd laid one of her cases down. "You must be my photographer! You have perfect timing, you know. Atobe-kun here," Mizuki laid a gentle hand on Atobe's shoulder, "was just wondering when you'd be here to take pictures for us." 

"I see, so you two must be the happy couple!" she said. Mizuki's smile faded, and Atobe tried to correct her, "no need to explain, sirs, I know a good match when I see it!" She put her camera to her eye, "Artist's vision, you see, and you two look so good together!" She took the camera down and fiddled with the settings of the lens, "and it's nice to see a couple that knows how to bicker. Those are the ones who are truly perfect for each other -- I've been to a lot of weddings, so I know!" She held up her camera. "Stand together, would you? Let's get one for the portfolio before I set up?" 

Atobe shot Mizuki a look, and found he was being shot one back. "You misunderstand, kit--" Mizuki dropped one of his Italian shoes onto Atobe's toe and twisted, producing a lound crunch, "miss," Atobe said, winded. "This isn't a wedding, we're not--" 

She was standing there, camera primed. She waved her free hand at him, to hush him, "Oh, no, of course not, I know. I can see that, since there aren't any guests! This is a staff rehearsal, isn't it? But you two look so good -- those suits! You should send my compliments to your personal stylists! -- and one little photograph wouldn't set us back now, would it?" She tapped the top of her camera with her finger and looked up at them under her eyelashes, as if she were pleading to them. 

"Actually," Mizuki said, in a sharp voice, "I choose all my own clothes!" He closed his eyes slowly, letting his long eyelashes flutter on his cheeks, and smiled with satisfaction. 

"Never!" The photographer said, "You're incredible! --This one's a keeper!" she said, turning to Atobe and laughing, and Mizuki waved a hand at her and shuffled his feet, but Atobe knew he believed it. "So, if you wouldn't mind, just," and she motioned for them to move together. 

Mizuki looked at Atobe, and Atobe looked back. And then Atobe stepped close to Mizuki, sliding his arm over Mizuki's shoulder. 

"Alright, now, big smiles, just picture how happy you're going to be together! Think of all those wonderful days to come -- that's it! Now, one, two, three!" They heard the clap of the lens, and they thought about it. Atobe thought about it, and his arm grew warm from the touch of Mizuki's shoulder.


End file.
